It's Final Legend of No Return
by Orin Drake
Summary: Squall, Stephen King, Pennywise (the clown) and Link. What do you think is gonna happen? I bet you're wrong.


"It's Final Legend of No Return" is the demon creation of a lack of sleep, and an inspiration by FireCeremony's Final Fantasy VIII / H.P. Lovecraft Cthulhu Mythos & Dreamlands cross-over story, "True Targets" (which can be found at http://fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=52532). The character Link is owned by Nintendo. Squall is owned by Squaresoft (lucky Squaresoft). Oh yeah, so in Rinoa. But we don't care about her, do we? "It", Pennywise and Roland are copyright the only man that can give me nightmares, Stephen King.   
Background: There is no excuse for this story. I'm already quite damned, thank you.   
  
  
  


It's Final Legend of No Return   
by Orin Drake 

No sound but his own breath, his own insanely raging heartbeat, he walked on. A cold desert, a world without any sort of landmarks, he just kept moving. Why wouldn't they answer him when he'd called? Had he been tricked into having believed they gave a damn? Or maybe he was lost forever under an eternally gray sky with no reachable horizon.   
_I'm so fucking cynical._ It felt like an odd thought for him to have, but it blurted itself out in his head anyway. Even more odd came the thought that followed right after, inspiring a semi-psychotic smile to cross his face for the fraction of a second; _At least Rinoa isn't here._   
The problem was really the fact that _no one_ was there at all. At least not that he could see. Something kept him walking, though. Maybe it was stupidity. Foolish pride, more likely. It didn't matter. There was nowhere to go but onward. At least he would try, for nobody but himself. That was a triumph, perhaps.   
No water, no rest, he was soon limping erratically, his legs feeling like mush under him and his head floating somewhere he couldn't quite pinpoint. This looked bad. He was getting desperately weak, and was certain that at any moment he wouldn't be able to manage another step. The clouds held nothing but contempt for him, and he almost felt them pressing him to the ground as his feet became lead.   
He fell, unceremoniously, onto his leather-clad ass. At least there was padding enough not to have broken anything. One would never want to break their ass of all things. Helpless, pointless, dreamless... he knew what it felt like, now. To know for certain this was your last moment. All the battles he'd fought, he had hope. No more. It was time to surrender and die.   
But then, the miracle happened. He could have sworn he saw movement through the gloss beginning to coat his eyes, but he couldn't allow himself to believe it. The trick of the light, as he was sure it was, began to solidify as he blinked. Desperately hoping for one last chance, he rubbed his eyes and looked again. There was something there! Something just a few feet in front of him!   
_Rinoa..._ he thought, deeply depressed. It was her blue outfit, alright. But as his eyes readjusted, he realized that either she had gained weight and become a man, or that someone else was wearing her outfit. The very idea seemed just a little... disturbing. Summoning what strength he had left, he called hoarsely, "Rinoa?"   
The form spun around, albeit slowly, and faced him. No, that was certainly not Rinoa. That was an older, nerdy-looking man with glasses that looked remarkably like... "Hi. I'm Stephen King."   
Still sitting on the ground, his jaw dropped. Wow. Stephen King. In Rinoa's outfit. What are the odds? Did the man always dress like this? Before he could introduce himself or admit to having read none of the man's books whatsoever, he heard a deep, terrifying rumbling off to the side from beyond the mists.   
"Oh not again..." Mr. King groaned, adjusting his bra-top.   
"What?" Squall wondered, looking out at the nothingness that was suddenly beginning to get darker.   
"Have you read It?" the author asked him, offering a hand.   
Weakly, Squall took it and forced his legs to accept his weight again. "Have I read what?"   
"It." Mr. King repeated as though he was making sense.   
The younger man blinked. It was really all he could think of to do.   
"Did you see the movie at least? The mini-series?" the author asked impatiently.   
Two options here, of course. One, he could admit to not knowing a damn thing of which the guy was talking about. Or two, just nodding. He chose the latter, thinking it the smarter solution.   
Unfortunately, Mr. King had guessed the real response. "Nevermind. How are you at dealing with scary clowns?"   
He nearly screamed. Clowns? His one fear, his only fear, his most terrible weakness. The terrifying make-up and general antics of a clown. _Oh dear and almighty force of the universe, anything but a clown..._   
It was too late for anyone to hear his prayers, however. From the darkness came two red eyes, followed by the make-up of... a clown. The fact that the beast looked remarkably like Tim Curry did nothing to soften the blow.   
Squall finally let a gut-wrenching scream tear from his throat, and he was off in the other direction... for exactly three steps before he collapsed again. Mr. King was well on his way to leaving him in the dust before he tripped, fell with a loud crunching sound, and screamed, "Not again! Damn car accident!"   
The clown descended upon the too-young-and-pretty-to-die leather-clad man with his knife-like teeth shown through a blood-curdling grin. Too weak to use his gunblade, he tried to fight the monster off with a series of girlie slaps.   
To everyone's surprise, the evil clown paused, staring down at the young man. And then, suddenly, a larger and far more wicked grin formed on his face. "I will let you both live under one condition."   
Mr. King, blindly grasping and thin air and mumbling something about toy monkeys and a cursing about a man named Roland who had brought him there to begin with, looked over and squeaked, "What?"   
The clown laughed sadistically. "You must both do a musical number with me."   
Squall screamed again. As if merely being around a clown wasn't bad enough, dancing with one? _Oh dear universe, what more horrible things could you throw..._   
"I'm not dressed for it." The popular author admitted, embarrassed.   
"Oh, that's perfect." The clown hissed. He then made eye contact with the frightened youth and demanded, "But you're going to have to take off your clothes."   
Squall may as well have been on fire for the deep, red-hot blush that broke out roughly all over his body. Take off his clothes? What the hell was this? A bad porno? A terrible fanfic gone even more horribly awry than usual?   
Reading his mind, the clown snapped his vicious fingers and a small dressing room appeared in the middle of nowhere. "There's something in there for you to change into. Now do it."   
In fear of the clown and not too very fond of the author still laying there grasping at nothingness behind him, he crawled over to the dressing room and locked the door behind him. The only things in the dressing room were lipstick, a compact of eye shadows, and high heels. _Uh-oh._   
Satisfied for the moment, the wicked Pennywise wandered over to the man who'd made ever so much money off of him without giving him a dime and dragged him up off of the ground. "I'm not real fond of you." He admitted, straightening the hemline of Rinoa's dress on the other man a bit.   
The author said nothing. He wasn't too fond of what he thought he'd created making him dance and sing in exchange for his life. He also wasn't real fond of Roland having warned him to stop following him and his ka-tet, jotting down every word they said to one another. It made him feel very uncomfortable, he'd said before he abandoned the author in this place of no return.   
The door to the dressing room opened. Very slowly, Squall emerged in an incredibly flattering outfit. Black patent leather heels, black fishnet stockings, black panties over a black garter belt, and a black bra. To completely the look was a bit of red lipstick and some really interesting purple eye shadow.   
Mr. King began screaming. He knew what was coming. That evil clown was going to make them do the Time Warp! "How could you do this to us?!" he demanded in a high-pitched fear-induced cry. "How could you be so heartless? So cruel?"   
The evil clown grinned and snapped his fingers once again, instantly morphing into a balding hunchback in something resembling a butler's outfit with killer gloves. "Let's begin, shall we?"   
Squall felt his stomach drop to his toes. He wasn't sure what was going on, but if it scared the supposed king of horror that much, odds were that it wasn't going to be a good thing.   
With a bit of forceful knocking about, Pennywise got the three of them into a straight line. "Now just follow my lead, children. A one, a two, a three..."   
Without any warning, the mists of the dark desert landscape opened up again to let another accidental visitor onto the scene. It was a short blonde kid in a short green dress, holding a sword in one hand and a blue shield in the other. Upon seeing the beginnings of a dance line forming (not to mention the outfits), he shrieked happily, dropped his weapon and defense, and joined at the end next to Pennywise.   
With a shrug, the clown counted off again. "A one, a two, a three..."   


  


Here's hoping your perceptions will never be the same. I'm gonna need a drink after this... 


End file.
